


King Again

by artistsfuneral



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Non-Canonical Character Death, Not Really Character Death, Remus and Roman live, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, is it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24145615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artistsfuneral/pseuds/artistsfuneral
Summary: When was the last time Thomas had remembered this place?Adults didn't need creativity. At least not the one a child had. He watched helplessly as the castle around him shattered into pieces. It was time to move on from this part of the imaginary, but he wasn't strong enough.-----A different take on King Creativity I guess.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	King Again

**King Again**

Heavy footsteps echoed through the abandoned landscape of the imagination. Flowers wilted under the shoes of the man and stone and wood creaked loudly in the silence.

The castle grounds were overgrown, untamed and forgotten. The imagination was running wild in this part of Thomas' subconscious.

Every now and then forgotten memories would appear, like shadows of the past. Pictures and sounds of things and times from long ago. Often times it was laughter echoing from the walls, but a few memories were full of tears.

He stopped right in front of one of those memories. A flickering shadow of a small boy – a small Thomas – sitting on the floor, crying and holding onto his stuffed bear.

Thomas had been afraid of the dark, afraid of the monsters in his closet that would come out at night and give him scary dreams.

Dragonwitches. During the night they were powerful, during the day the fought them with wooden swords made from sticks and yarn.

The memory flickered again, then disappeared. He went on.

It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered.

With a numbing-loud sound one of the castle's towers broke down. Stone and wood crashed onto the ground as he watched. Dust was blown into the air and the ground shook. Another broken piece that added up to the ruin.

Ruin... fit better than castle.

He stepped on broken glass as he made his way up the demolished stone staircase. Ivy grew wild where red roses once bloomed. Broken furniture was collecting dust that danced in the light. The banners were long ripped down and torn apart.

He stepped into the great hall, his steps still echoing.

No unicorns, no horses, no dogs or cats, not even birds. No stuffed animals or characters from drawings, no Sides. Abandoned. Ruined. Lost and forgotten.

When was the last time Thomas had remembered this place?

When was the last time he had thought about the once great halls full of light and warmth? The castle had lost it's purpose long ago. The magic had left slowly, just as slowly as Thomas had forgotten how to play, forgotten how to pretend and dream.

Other things had become more important, Curiosity had grown into Logic, had gotten stronger. Rules had grown up into Morality. Fear had changed and then disappeared. Anxiety had come back.

And Creativity? Creativity had been ripped apart under it all.

Adults didn't play pretend, they didn't play knight and prince in a castle that was imagined from a treehouse. Adults didn't need creativity. At least not the one a child had.

The throne was the heart of the castle, the center of it all, of the idea. It was the only thing that was still the same. Because Thomas remembered it still.

A golden throne on a high pedestal, with red cushions and blankets. Big, always to big for one.

The Side sitting in it looked tiny. Like a lifeless doll it sat slumped to the side of the throne. Skin pale, matted hair and glassy eyes.

So tiny. So helpless.

A child's creativity unable to grow with the rest.

broken crown on top of a heavy head.

He sank down on his knees, right in front of the throne. Like a broken man begging for forgiveness he placed his head on the edge of the throne.

A shuddering breath disturbed the silence and a tiny cold hand found its way into his hair. A gift, a blessing, a sign of trust. The Side knew, had known it before he did. But it didn't say anything, didn't warn him, because it knew he wasn't ready to hear. He sill wasn't, but now it was too late.

Footsteps echoed behind him, coming towards them, but he stayed on his knees, unworthy to stand in front of the throne. Someone kneeled beside him, mirrored his pose, head down and placed on the edge of the throne. Another breath rattling in weak lungs, another movement. He didn't need to show up to know there was now another hand buried in soft brown hair.

“He's growing up,” he whispered instead, voice hoarse from crying. “He's changing.”

A big, warm hand found his own, he pressed it hard.

“It is time,” the voice next to him was stronger, made it to the walls and echoed back to the them.

There was a long silence of breathless nothingness. Then a quiet voice found his ears.

“I know,” the child said, “This will be a Goodbye. For now.”

The Side flickered like the shadows of a memory.

“We will see each other again. But you have to be strong now.” It flickered again and again.

“Both of you. Be strong.”

They stayed on their knees. Stayed hunched over, while the sound of another tower breaking down filled the silence. Stayed on their knees while the ceiling broke down around them and sunlight filled the throne room.

They stayed on their knees when the tiny hands in their hair vanished, and they stayed while Roman sobbed and cried and while Remus screamed and cursed into the emptiness of the ruins that were once a castle full of life.

And when it was time, they stood up and sat together on the throne. Side by side, filling out the space that always looked to big and too empty for a child. They watched together as the last tower shattered into stone and dust and they watched as grass and wildflowers bloomed over broken buildings.

And behind their backs on the very last standing wall the portrait of the king changed as the child Side grew into a young man, head held high, proudly watching over the forgotten kingdom.

Until it would return, the brothers would rule.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear Lord, where did this come from?  
> In case someone didn't understand: This is a somewhat different take on King Creativity! When Thomas started to grow up and change and so did his Sides, but instead of Creativity splitting into two it's more like Roman and Remus were a replacement for the "child creativity" and while the two of them grew stronger, the child grew weaker until it was time to switch places. Does that make sense?


End file.
